


Galaxias Cercanas

by MarauderCracker



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, out of the confinement of the Ark and their roles in a war they never want to be a part of, they discover what freedom actually tastes like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Galaxias Cercanas

Finally, out of the confinement of the Ark and their roles in a war they never want to be a part of, they discover what freedom actually tastes like. Whatever the hell we want, Bellamy remembers, and he isn't the only one who does. As they rebuild a settlement where the drop-ship first landed, safe at least in the reassurance that the Mountain's shadow and the war's scars have turned this area in a mostly inhabited zone; these words get brought up often, with more or less seriousness depending on who's voicing them. 

 

"You said whatever the hell we want, Bellamy," Monty reminds him one day, as he comes back from a scavenging trip with bottles of century-old whiskey that he dug out from a near-empty bunker. Bellamy is in no position to argue, anyway, but he doesn't drink. Raven doesn't either. They share the same bottle of water as the rest of the camp gets so drunk they can barely walk, indulge their friends in singing along with them and pretend to be scared when Nathan slurs out a "scary" story. It's just warm enough that they can leave them sleeping out on the grass, protected by the fence and the still-burning bonfire, as they walk slowly back to Raven's tent. 

Raven brushes her lips against the corner of Bellamy's mouth before whispering ' _descansa_ ' and pressing her bony back to Bellamy's chest and he decides this tenderness, this warmth, this unmovable safety are what he's been wanting from the start.

 

Wanting is such a new, fragile thing on this Earth of theirs. Raven finds unabridged free will suffocating. She is allowed to want more than food and a roof and to keep her idle hands busy on this new world that they are building and it terrifies her. She is allowed to sleep in and limp on her busted leg and cry when the pain becomes unbearable and eat sweet raspberries and dream of a future that the Ark couldn't even contain. 

Now that the war is over and rebuilding is just beginning, now that legacy is a responsibility they all share, now that she finally has time to heal, she finds that the past hurts in different ways. She doesn't want to throw herself into open space to escape the four walls of her mother's old quarters anymore and suddenly she can think of her without so much anger. 

Her mother's name was Esperanza and she used to tell Raven stories in a tangled mix of Spanish and English before the addiction started eating at her, before trauma and mental illness and the cold indifference of the Ark stole her from Raven's young grasp. As they grieve the people they've lost, Raven allows herself to mourn her mother for the first time in her life. 

She imagines her mom would have loved to see real ravens flying across the open skies.

 

Whatever the hell we want is not chaos and anarchy, not the boiling anger of their first nights of freedom. They hold this future with delicate hands, they make the words mean hospitality and kindness and hope, they promise to be better than those who came before them. They are the last and the first. The choose, they want. Every act is atonement, it's promise. 

"Quienes quieran entrar son bienvenidos," Raven says with the certain authority of a person who's become a leader without really meaning it but doesn't resent it, with the thick accent of one who hasn't used the language in too long years. The Southern grounders' dialect is just similar enough to Old Spanish for them to understand.

 

Raven learned the names of constellations from her Grandmother's astronomy books --early on, before her mom traded invaluable relics of the old world for booze-- so she knows them in Spanish first. They sit with Monty and Nathan under the clear night skies and point at the stars, Bellamy tells them the ancient Greek and Roman stories about each of them. 

They pass the old whiskey around and this time Bellamy and Raven indulge in just a couple sips each, grimace at the burning of it. Now her mother's tongue slips off almost by instinct from Raven's mouth, she slurs words Bellamy doesn't understand against his collarbone as they stumble into his tent together. 

She mumbles half asleep, her voice soothing and peaceful, a soft smile in her lips that is barely visible in the dark. He catches just a couple words (zero-G, mamá, espacio, space-walking, extrañar) but he doesn't ask for translation. He throws an arm around her waist, kisses the top of her head as her words turn from a faint whisper into a sigh and then she's breathing deep and steady.

This love, this belonging are all that Bellamy could want. This freedom that tastes like burned meat and old whiskey and Raven's skin against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> 'descansa' = 'get rest'  
> esperanza = hope  
> 'quienes quieran entrar son bienvenidos' = 'whoever wants to come in is welcome'  
> and in the drifting-to-sleep words (zero-G, mamá, espacio, space-walking, extrañar) = mom, space and to miss/long for something


End file.
